


The Repairs and the Tears

by A_Fine_Piece



Series: A Thin Red Line [30]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Confessions, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-15 23:32:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3466091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Fine_Piece/pseuds/A_Fine_Piece
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After testifying, Renji feels the sting of guilt. Rukia confides sensitive information to Hisana.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Repairs and the Tears

Renji sits, eyes glued to his hands. His hands knot into a ball of sweaty flesh and fingers. His brows burn, they knit so close together. The creases in his forehead threaten to become permanent, he stares so fiercely. Seeing, but unseeingly.

_"_ _What happened?"_  The words echo in his brain. He can almost hear them, as if they were freshly spoken.

_I don't remember._

A lie. He remembers. The memory etched into his mind plays with stunning clarity—like one of those strange devices in the World of the Living—at the worst of moments.

_It all happened so fast._

Another lie. If anything, time slowed down when he saw Aizen, donning his most treacherous of colors. Every second passed with the length of  _hours_. Time grew attenuated, almost  _stopping_.

_His words…. He wanted something._

Perhaps this was the most truthful thing Renji said. Aizen had spoken words of  _want_. Even his features had contorted into that of some desirous monster. A certain frantic, almost kinetic, eagerness had animated the once noble-minded captain.

Renji smarts at his own reflection:  _Noble-minded captain_.

Aizen was  _never_  noble-minded.

It was all an illusion. Every little fucking thing. Where Aizen began and where his illusion ended? that will be a discussion for souls with better minds than Renji. It will be a conversation that spans centuries.  _At least_.

_He wanted…._

Renji winces. He shouldn't have. How could he? Why wouldn't his lips just fucking shut? He should've gnawed his tongue off. He knew it was wrong before the word even escaped his mouth. But, he couldn't help himself. He had lied to the council. One too many lies. Redemption, however, felt worse.

_The Hōgyoku._

His heart falls like a stone, right into the pit of his stomach. Bile rises in his throat, seeps into his mouth. He swallows. Eyes squeezed shut and lips pressed together.

He leans forward. His forearms rest on his knees, and he stares into the floorboards, running uniformly in long lateral lines.

_Gone._

_They're all gone._

"Hey!"

_Because…._

"Hey!"

_…_ _of me?_

A loud "fwap" pulls his attention up. He's been struck. Pain crackles from his foot, and he lightly shakes it. The injury is superficial, but it stings like holy hell.

_What the fuck?_

Wild eyes snap up to find Rukia looming over him. Her hands are on her hips, and her right foot keeps time with her own frantic internal clock.

"What are you doing?" she asks, impatient.

He stares at her. His pensive stare melts before crystalizing into a punishing  _glare_.

"Feeling sorry for yourself?" she practically  _sings_ , teasingly, and her brow cocks at the indignation her question elicits from him. "Get up. We're leaving."

She has gotten down right  _bossy_ in her old age, he thinks to himself. But, he obliges her nonetheless. Wordlessly, he stands. A frown pulls his lips down, and he snorts a dissatisfied breath. "Any word?" the question tastes bitter in his mouth, and, silently, he rebukes himself for even asking.

Rukia shoots him a devious glance. "They're fine," she says, an impish smile thinning her lips.

 _Of course,_  he thinks to himself as he skulks two paces off her clip.  _Ichigo would make sure of it._

"Don't look so pained," Rukia's voice goes from sardonic to serious in a nanosecond. "It's not like you did anything to make them leave."

The lines in Renji's face relax. "Huh?"

Rukia throws her head back and laughs. "Seriously?  _You_  thought  _you_  had anything to do with them leaving?"

He scowls at her A cold, deadpan scowl.  _Of course_ , he thinks to himself,  _it was just a test. One of Rukia's specialties. The bait and switch._

"Oh, c'mon, Renji," her voice trills, playfully. "Lady Shihōin had been planning their escape for some time."

Renji's brows furrow. "Really?" A breath of relief fills his chest before slipping out through his nose.

"Yep. It's not like the Gotei 13 was planning on releasing them any time soon."

Renji shuts his eyes for a second and exhales. The tension melts from his chest and back, and he stuffs his hands into his pockets. "Good to know."

"Huh?" Rukia's head lolls to the side, as if she doesn't quite understand her friend's expression. Or worse, she thinks he has misjudged her meaning.

"That's good? Right?"

A small, sarcastic chuckle leaves Renji puzzled.

"We'll see."

Renji's gaze lingers on his friend. When has Rukia taken to talking in riddles? Isn't that something better left to her brother?

His heart goes cold, and a small panic sweeps over him, leaving his nerves frosted and numb. He hadn't realized it. Not until now. Perhaps he has been too preoccupied. But, there it is. Clear as day.

The rift.

He wonders if she knows? And, if so, for how long? Why hasn't she have told him? Is it something you don't see until the other person is on the other side of the gorge? Until they seem increasingly small and insignificant to your life? Until someone else nudges them out of the space that you once so closely held, hell, even  _prized_?

Renji doesn't speak of his suspicions. Instead, he walks behind Rukia, a three paces off her beat. Instead, he wonders, endlessly, after their friendship. He wonders if it will ever be the same. ( _Probably not_.) And, what this change will entail.

He continues to wonder these things even when they separate in the middle of the town square. He stares at her rapidly diminishing form until the night absorbs her. Until she  _disappears_.

Rukia will not diminish. She will not disappear. Not if he can help it.

* * *

Rukia pulls the door back and crosses the threshold to Kuchiki manor, happy to be home. Absently, she threads her way to her sister's private quarters upon feeling the pulse of Hisana's reiatsu. The sweet smell of jasmine and ginger elicit a wide smile as she peels back the door to find Hisana sweetly cradling one of the boys. The other rests on his pad, swaddled tight and in the midst of a very deep slumber.

"Sister," Rukia greets and bows slightly at the hip. Without a second thought or a word from her sister, Rukia enters the room and finds herself reaching for the slumbering twin boy. Hisana gently hands her son to Rukia for the tending while she turns her attention to the other sleeping prince.

"I'm glad there are two," Rukia says, half-teasing and half-in-earnest.

Hisana returns her sister's words with a sly smile. "I as well."

Rukia imagines Hisana means something quite different, but she does not press the issue. "They are so chubby," she coos, rocking the heir in her arms.

Hisana does not speak her happiness at seeing the boys thrive. Instead, she continues to cradle the freshly fed infant.

"How is Brother handling his new responsibilities?"

Hisana bows her head slightly, and Rukia cannot tell if this is bad or good news. "Well," she says, voice somber and gentle.

"I see," Rukia says, not quite sure if she truly understands Sister's meaning. Hisana's words and her actions provide opposite accounts of Byakuya's success as father.

"He has been slightly  _overbearing_ ," Hisana elaborates once the silence becomes intolerable.

 _I can't imagine_ , Rukia muses sardonically to herself. While she respects her brother with all of her heart, she is no fool.  _Brother is…well…he is… Overprotective might be too light a judgment_.

If nothing, Sister's assessment only confirms Rukia's initial suspicions: Brother has been driving Hisana mad. For the last few days, Sister has taken to cloistering herself in her room.

In fact, Brother and Sister seem to be barely speaking to each other.

 _How strange_.

There has been no row to Rukia's knowledge. The servants, surely, would've said  _something_. At the very least, Rukia's handmaiden would've warned her.

_Perhaps the servants don't even know?_

"What's that?" Rukia's attention flits from her internal musings to the carefully wrapped parcel at her sister's knee.

Hisana follows Rukia's gaze. "A gift," Hisana murmurs, patting her son's back.

Rukia stares at her, pensively.

"You may open it."

Without hesitation, Rukia's right hand shoots in front of her, toward the package. Her fingers tangle in the colorful folds of the paper, like little hooks. She makes quick use of the wrapping, and, with one hand, she exposes the gift.

A painting.

Hisana shares Rukia's gaze, and, almost instinctively, she rejects it. Not with words, Rukia observes. Her eyes dismiss the art. Its colors, its depiction of cherry and plum blossoms scattering across a forest, the use of light and dark, the proportions—everything only seems to draw Hisana's boredom.

"It is lovely," Rukia notes, failing to understand Sister's objection.

"Quite," her sister says, voice flat and unconvincing.

Rukia places her index finger against her lips and stares, uncomprehending. "Huh?"

Hisana lightly kisses her son's head and signals for the nurse, who dutifully takes the heirs away, likely to bed. Hisana then turns her attention to the painting. She considers it again, perhaps trying to find the merit that Rukia sees in it. And, again, Hisana's appears dissatisfied with what she sees.

"Is something wrong?" Rukia asks, giving up. Sister's thoughts are unreadable.

Hisana's eyes fall to the floor, and a wrinkle forms between her brows. "What do you think, Rukia?" she asks, trying to hide her listless dissatisfaction and  _failing_  miserably in the process.

"It is," Rukia's voice trails off as she hovers over the scroll. It is long, massive, even. Hungrily, her eyes search each brush stroke to discern what draws her sister's turmoil. When she comes up empty, Rukia straightens her spine, and she stares, wide-eyed and confused, into the tatami.

"The colors," Hisana whispers, reading the painting as if it is a story.

Rukia lowers her head and focuses her gaze.

The white, the gray, and the red. Rukia's lips twist and pull to the side. It doesn't matter. No amount of squinting ponderingly into the painting will force the answer into her brain.

"Brother is white," Rukia says, feeling the weight of empty moments begin to force her shoulders into an undignified slope. Sister is red. That observation is so obvious that Rukia cannot bear to speak it.

Which leaves the gray….

By process of elimination, Rukia must be the gray. But… gray isn't her color. The protest swells from her chest and creeps up her throat, where it stays. She swallows it back. A breathless spluttering, however, gives away her confusion.

"Did you know there are white horses and gray horses, Rukia?" Hisana closes her eyes. Her voice is breezy as always, but Rukia knows better.

"Huh?" Rukia blinks, wide-eyed and hopeful. Of course, she knows there are white horses and gray horses.

"Some gray horses have a coat that is just as white as the white horses," Hisana continues, never once breaking her gaze from her needle.

"Oh?"

"You wouldn't know the difference unless you brush the hair back to glimpse the horse's flesh. You see, true white horses have pink skin."

Rukia's gaze drifts to the floorboards as she considers her sister's words. Yet, no matter the trying, she finds no illumination. The words are cryptic, whipping her thoughts into a frenzy of possibilities.

"Despite his appearance, Rukia, Lord Byakuya has iron in his soul. Through the years, he has tempered and burnished it, but it is there, it is gray,  _and it is cutting_."

Breath hitches in Rukia's chest, and her eyes widen to the size of saucers. The words—once so numerous and so fleeting—scatter inside her head until there is nothing.

Nothing at all.

"Then the painting?" Again, Rukia attempts to read its veiled meaning. This time, however, the once benign piece of art takes on a more sinister shade.

The cherry blossoms and the white plum blossoms scatter on the wind. While the three trees, two saplings and a large, looming sakura, remain steadfast, gray and barren.

_Hisana and I are fleeting things…._

Rukia exhales a heavy breath before rolling the scroll so that its image is no longer visible.

 _We'll see about that,_  a defiant spark flares in Rukia's chest, and her eyes set as if a challenge has been thrown her way.

"How are your friends from the World of the Living?" Hisana asks, clearly eager to digress.

Little does Sister know, her digression is equally as emotionally charged. Perhaps even more so. It has been a long while since either she or Sister expected  _much_  from the Kuchiki elders. But, Ichigo...

"They are gone," Rukia answers quickly, hoping that, if her words are spoken fast enough, Sister will not press the issue.

"Where did they go?"

Rukia's instincts prove wrong.

"Ah, back home," she responds, wincing slightly as she waits for the next question.

"To the World of the Living?" Hisana's head bobs up, and she shoots Rukia an incredulous glance. "Why? Will they be safe there?"

Rukia flinches. "Uh, yeah. They'll be safe there."  _What does that even mean?_ _Why wouldn't they be? They have..._

"How do you know? Did the Gotei 13 release them?" Hisana's eyes narrow as she attempts to sift through the logic of sending the living home so soon.

"No," Rukia replies, forcing a smile.

"No? Then, how?"

"Lady Shihōin—"

"—Yoruichi returned them? But, certainly, the Gotei 13 will not let them slip through their fingers so easily. Presumably, they know where they are."

"Well…." Rukia sinks down slightly before meeting Sister's probing stare. "I think they will be safe." Rukia barely stops herself from uttering the words that fill her mouth. She wants so badly to tell Sister of her discoveries. She wants to speak the names so badly that when Hisana's stare goes from perplexed to worried, Rukia lets go. "Captains Shiba, Urahara, and Yoruichi will protect them."

Hisana's eyes widen and her jaw drops at the news. "What?" the word just falls out of her mouth. Where there was once concern, there is now sheer horrified disbelief. "Isshin Shiba? He's alive?"

Rukia nods her head, long slow nods. "And he's Ichigo's father," she whispers.

"Isshin Shiba is Ichigo Kurosaki's father?"

Both Hisana and Rukia go rigid, frozen in horror at the voice that fills their ears and the room. It is low. It is dark. It is distinctly Brother's.

Hisana is the first to move, her temporarily paralysis releases her neck muscles, and she lifts her gaze to her husband. As she assumed, he stands with a stern gaze and a blank expression. His stoic façade, however, only masks his confusion, or, worse, his displeasure.

"Lord Byakuya," Hisana begins, voice soft and pleading for clemency on behalf of her sister, "there must be a misunderstanding. Isshin has been dead for  _years_."

_But, then so has Yoruichi._

Rukia stares into Brother's impassive features, heart lodged in her throat, and stomach churning like a hurricane. She can't find the words. Doesn't know her lines. What can she do to minimize the damage?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. She just stares and hopes Brother's quiet fury dissipates.

"Rukia," Byakuya utters her name in a crisp monotone.

"Brother," she murmurs, bowing her head respectfully. He needn't ask. She just  _knows_ , and, dutifully, it all comes flooding out. "Captain Isshin Shiba is Ichigo's father. I am certain. He is alive and well in the World of the Living."

Byakuya's does not relent, pinning her down with a stare.

"Whether he retains his power, I don't know. I suspect he does given the nature of Ichigo's ability."

"And Kisuke Urahara?"

"Alive. He retains at least some of his abilities."

A long pause ensues. Rukia knows what this pause entails. Brother is waiting for further elaboration. Unfortunately, try as she might, she has nothing more to divulge. The words are simply not there.

"Very well, Rukia, you are dismissed."

Rukia doesn't need another life line, and, without protest, she collects herself, and rushes out of the room.

Hisana lowers head and sits patiently waiting for the sound of her husband's voice. He hides his pain well, she thinks. Rukia surely did not notice it. But, she does. The cracks in his well-maintained austerity are deep, and she counters with an empathetic nod of her head.

"Milord," she murmurs, submissively.

He remains silent, eying the door until it slides shut. Upon hearing the  _clack_  of wood against wood, he turns to his wife, who sits demurely collected on a cushion. Gracefully, she lifts her head, and their eyes meet. It is brief, for he does not have the courage to maintain her gaze, and his attention trails to the floor.

_Why does she not confide in her captain?_

The question lingers between them, heavy and oppressive.

Hisana finally breaks the tense silence. "The humans have gone."

" _Escaped_ ," Byakuya corrects, voice pointed.

Hisana grins at her husband's heated indignation. It has been a while since he let his own fire blind him, but she never misses the opportunity to watch as the wild flame that she fell in love with flares up. "I see," she murmurs, teasingly.

"You think I am behaving extravagantly."

Her grin spreads across her lips, and she lowers her gaze. "I prefer you no other way, milord." The statement is sweet and reflective.

It takes him by surprise, and he lowers his guard. "Hisana," he speaks her name as if it is an incantation.

Sometimes, she wonders if it is, and she wonders what emotion her name summons in him. Perhaps it calms him? Ushers in a wave of resolve?

She will never know, always too afraid to inquire. "What if Captains Urahara and Shiba reside in the World of the Living? What difference does that make?"

Contemplative, his brows knit together as he considers his answer. When he has the solution, he shuts his eyes and his expression falls.

 _Everything_.

He does not speak the word, but she feels it in the beating of his reiatsu. She sees it in the lines of his face. She swears she can hear it in the beat of his heart.

He is right, and it pains her to admit it.

"The Twelfth wishes to examine Rukia," Byakuya murmurs before settling on the cushion in front of Hisana. His gaze is distant and rooted to the floor.

Before the protest has the chance to leave Hisana's lips, he continues.

"I have blocked access." Slowly, his gaze lifts until they lock eyes.

_But if…._

Hisana nods her head, understanding the explanation lodged in his stare.  _But if they know Rukia has been in contact with Kisuke Urahara, then Lord Byakuya's power will not keep the Twelfth's Captain at bay._

"Of course," her voice breaks in the air. "Why would Lady Shihōin—?" She doesn't have the heart to finish her question.

"She has a plan, no doubt." For a brief moment, her husband's mood lightens, drawing a smile from her. If anyone could quell Byakuya's worries, then it would Yoruichi Shihōin. For as much as he is loathe to admit it, he respects her abilities and her judgment.

Trust, however, does not pair well with pride.

"Captains Ukitake, Hitsugaya, and Kenpachi have been called upon to send squad members to reclaim the humans," he states, as if the words have soured in his mouth.

"Well, then, it will be only a matter of time before the ranks know that both Shiba and Urahara are alive."

_And only a matter of time before the Twelfth attempts to collect Rukia._

"I will assign a detail to Rukia in the meanwhile. She has been suspended from duty until the investigation has concluded."

Hisana smothers the urge to chuckle, but her amusement is all too apparent. "I am sure she will be  _honored_."

Byakuya gives Hisana a sly, warning stare. No solider wishes to be protected, least of all Rukia, who has struggled with distinguishing herself from her brother and from the image of a Kuchiki Princess.

Hisana lowers her head and closes her eyes. "I know." When she opens her eyes, her complexion goes pallor, and she stares out into horror. Reflexively, she reaches out to stop her husband, but it is no use.

"What is this?" he asks, unfurling the scroll.

"Lord Byakuya!" she cries, belatedly.

Too late.

His learned gaze pans the painting, taking in each detail. His jaw squares, and his eyes harden upon discerning the meaning. Silently, he rolls the scroll. Fingers deft and knuckles white as he grips the painting.

Soothingly, she rests her hand on his. The feel of his skin, warm and taut, against her palm sends a bolt of electricity shooting down her arm. The humming of inflamed neurons, however, does not deter her. Instead, her touch only becomes heavier until she feels the strings of his muscles begin to release. Fiber by fiber, he submits.

"Forgive me," Byakuya murmurs.

What he means is 'forgive my family.'

Hisana shakes her head. "It will make splendid kindling, milord, for our fire."


End file.
